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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29916396">because it can't all be sorrow, can it?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MMonster/pseuds/MMonster'>MMonster</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, WandaVision (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:28:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,530</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29916396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MMonster/pseuds/MMonster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanda is adrift, hurting, and alone after Vision's death. The world has changed, and despite the Avengers' victory, it must be made new again. T'Challa is a King and, therefore, the choices he makes for himself affect his whole nation. </p><p>Between all of it, the reason why soulmarks are true makes itself known.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wanda Maximoff/T'Challa, Wanda Maximoff/Vision</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Wanda had to say something. Kindness had seldomly been given to her in life, and this man had even less reason for it. She had killed his countrymen, fought against him, and escaped justice. Yet, here he was, using every resource available to help her, even requesting the assistance of his sister.</p><p>She wasn’t sure how to address him and things were moving quickly all around her. Steve, Natasha, and him were leading the preparation for the fight sure to come. So, Wanda patiently waited. When his gaze slid to her, nothing more than an acknowledgment of her presence before he left to attend his other duties, she stared into his dark eyes and spoke.</p><p>“Thank you, for everything.”</p><p>King T’Challa stilled then, his eyes suddenly sharpening on hers, intent. Wanda wouldn’t say she was disappointed when his answer was only a respectful, economic nod. But she wished she could have been more articulate, could have more accurately conveyed how much this small glimmer of hope he was giving her and Vision meant.</p><p>He left and she didn’t see him again. Not until death greeted them all.</p>
<hr/><p>Five years, or barely a second, later, she was back. A confusion of pain and loss, the only thing keeping Wanda on track was the fire of her anger at the universe for yet again taking everything from her. But not the universe, no, Thanos.</p><p>She hurt him and that consoled her for no more than a moment. They defeated him and her relief lasted a thought. <em>Until the next one comes</em>, her wounded, distrustful mind supplied. Until the next wave of loss. They all returned to Wakanda first, their only intact Homebase, everything about it screaming at her of the time willed away by Thanos. What she had seen in ruins no more than an hour before was gleaming whole, not as beautiful as before but not even one piece of rubble on the ground. The grass was green, not soaked in red.</p><p>Clint had been the first to leave, even before they made the portal-trip back to Wakanda. She trudged close to Steve, as she always did, and he led her to a private space where the stragglers of what was left of the Avengers and company had flocked. Wanda took an easier breath surrounded by faces that were not necessarily friendly, but familiar. Steve had work to do, so he left her behind with a shoulder squeeze and a tight smile.</p><p>Sitting on a sofa by the corner, she watched the princess fuss over her brother and the reunion of a warrior and her leader. Thinking of Vision, of Nat, Pietro and even Tony, Wanda allowed warm tears to slide down her face. No happy reunions for her. Invisible among this chaos of bittersweet happiness, Wanda sat and waited, not knowing what for.</p><p>King T’Challa laughed at something his sister, Princess Shuri, said. The warrior whose name Wanda couldn’t remember answered with an open, but dignified smile. He stepped back when someone bumped into him, all courtesies demanded by royalty momentarily forgotten, and his eyes strayed to land on hers.</p><p>The same way it happened the last, and only time, they spoke, he suddenly stopped. His eyes bore into hers and Wanda rushed to avert her gaze, carelessly wiping the tears off of her face and noticing only then that her hands still trembled. She stared at her knobby knees encased by the uniform pants Stark had designed for her, the most expensive article of clothing she ever wore.</p><p>When strong legs still covered by the black vibranium suit that was his very identity appeared on her field of vision, Wanda startled. She looked up at the King, his kind face studying hers, heavy sadness that shouldn’t be there on the lines of his brow. Made immobile by grief and bewilderment, Wanda waited.</p><p>“I’m deeply sorry for your loss, Ms. Maximoff.”</p><p>Like the infinitesimal point from which the Big Bang exploded, Wanda’s breath was pulled from her lungs in a choked, startled gasp. The world went murky and tears pooled, falling unnoticed, everything but the man in front of her ceasing to exist. It was then that she broke. When the universe, fate, god, or whatever it may be decided to give her the one thing Wanda could never truly lose hope in after cruelly taking the love of her life from her very grasp.</p><p>“You…” She whimpered, incapable of words as wracking sobs clawed their way out of her throat.</p><p>He kneeled in front of her, strong arms moving to encase her in an embrace that felt like nothing short of a miracle. Strong, steady, and infinitely kind, T’Challa held Wanda.</p><p>“You are mine.” She choked out. “My soul-soulmate.” Her face pressed against his neck, the expanse of bare skin against hers a soothing balm. The inside of her thigh burned, the spot at which Wanda had always glared, wondering what she would have to lose in order to gain this.</p><p>A big, strong hand settled on her hair, firm and comforting.</p><p>“Yes.” He kissed the top of her head, then, and Wanda wondered if this feeling would kill her. Grief consoled by love, relief found in understanding. In knowing she wouldn’t be alone. “I am yours and you are mine.”</p><p>Uncaring of the spectacle they were surely making of themselves, T’Challa held Wanda close and tight. Her every tear seared his skin, her unrelenting sobs were knives driven into his chest, but he held firm and took the brunt of the wave of pain she was drowning in. He would pull her out of it if he had to sit with his arms around her for the next century.</p><p>In the end, it didn’t take that long. Dehydration dried her eyes eventually, exhaustion numbed her enough that the pain receded for a few moments. When Wanda was ready to pull back, T’Challa was the one who almost didn’t want to let go. But he did.</p><p>She was puffy eyes and a small, reddened nose. Wet eyelashes and wild, tangled hair. Pain still swam in her clear green depths. Wanda was a mess, a traumatized, grieving mess. A ticking time bomb by the simple grace of her Thanos-threatening powers and emotional upheaval. A political nightmare in the making, when the King of Wakanda made it public that his one and only soulmate was an enhanced, white, foreigner who might still be on a few most-wanted lists.</p><p>T'Challa cupped her face, carefully, as if she were made of spun glass. He had retracted his suit sometime before, so he had the pleasure of running his fingers over her smooth, soft skin.</p><p>“I’m here for you.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I would really appreciate feedback on this, since it's such a far-fetched, rare pairing, that I'm very sure this is only the 5th story with their tag on this site. Does anyone know if they trade any words on-screen? But I don't think so.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Soulmates can be platonic.” She says, side-eyeing the man who stands by her side, a grave figure looking upon the marvelousness of his kingdom through a glass wall.</p><p>“Okoye…” His tone is low, a warning.</p><p>“I’m merely saying, my King. There is more than one path.” It’s solely her trust in her sovereign that holds her tongue from saying more, from listing to him all the many reasons why he must tread carefully in the future. She’s aware he knows them, could write that list himself.</p><p>For hours, they have sat in this room, the King, the Queen Mother who reigned in his and Shuri’s absence – tradition held back by the people’s hope that they would return – a representant from each tribe, and herself, the highest commander of Wakanda’s force. They showed him what has happened to his nation in his five-year absence, told him the ruins the world has become, but also highlighted the many big and small ways Wakanda was able to help itself and others. The happiness of this time makes it all bearable, as tenebrous as the years before were, the world now shares unequaled hope for the future.</p><p>Nonetheless, more than ever, Wakanda needs to be guided by a steady hand. Its traditions must be honored so that they aren’t lost, and faced with a restored world that knows its might, it must be united and strong. Okoye is happy for her King, when she saw him returned and whole it was a joy so overwhelming that it crumbled the equanimity that was trained into her since as far as she can remember. She clasped his hand, tears blurring her vision. The Princess, she hugged, knowing there was no protocol capable of stopping her right then.</p><p>Hours later, when they were all united and happiness bustled all around, she was confused to watch him suddenly stride away, a mere ‘excuse me’ on his lips. His destination was only made clear as he kneeled in front of a teary-eyed young woman, sitting by herself in a corner. To see her King lowered in that manner was striking, even in that brief while where all the formalities seemed meaningless. That he kneeled for a foreigner, one whose name and questionable deeds Okoye remembered after no more than a couple befuddled seconds, was all the more jarring.</p><p>He embraced the woman, who sobbed on his shoulder for what felt like hours, but were likely only minutes. Most of the foreigners, unaware of the impropriety of his actions or too concerned with their own issues, failed to notice it right away. But the Wakandans immediately turned to look, watching the tenderness with which T’Challa held the girl, retracting his suit to run caring hands over her back and hair while she cried. In time, the foreigners stopped to watch as well, confused as to why their hosts were so focused on that scene.</p><p>Okoye wouldn’t admit to anyone that she felt queasy with worry when the young woman finally pulled back and the King talked to her, bringing a hand to her face, touching her as if she were precious. Okoye heard a gasp by her side, the Queen Mother coming to the same conclusion she just had.</p><p>“His soulmate.” The Queen’s voice was shaky, but when the warrior looked at her, she was smiling. “She must be his soulmate.”</p><p>“It was about time.” Shuri added, always joking, but even the Princess seemed surprised.</p><p>For a moment, Okoye allowed herself to be glad. T’Challa had been blessed with one mark only, a story that his father relished in telling of a sweet, but willful, 8-years-old boy who had loathed his language studies above all until the day a mark appeared on his hip. English words crafted by a delicate hand-writing that generated many days pestering his tutors for more English lessons than the ones allotted per week. The boy didn’t rest until he was fluent in the language and it awoke in him a desire to learn other ones as well.</p><p>Also, famously, Wakanda Kings are rarely blessed with a soulmark. His father and grandfather had none. It’s a neutral subject, however, because despite the popular saying that ‘a King’s soulmate is his nation’, Wakanda has had many great Kings who were bounded. Never before, however, to a foreigner. It makes sense that it’s now, for many rulers before T’Challa spent their entire lifetimes having close to no contact with outsiders. But in recent generations, it wasn’t only necessary, but encouraged. T’Challa himself spent years living abroad, acquiring a university degree that was meaningless but for the opportunity it represented to learn how the world outside of Wakanda’s borders functions.</p><p>When T’Challa rose from his humble position – palm clasped to a pale hand that held onto him tightly – and made his way back to where Okoye, Shuri and Ramonda waited, the warrior watched, nonplussed. In the end, however, she chose to allow the happiness of the day to win. Pushed aside her immediate worries and smiled at the sad, uncertain girl his King introduced to her, even though Okoye already knew her name.</p><p>Wanda Maximoff, ex-Avenger, escapee, and the enhanced person who had accidentally killed and injured a group of Wakandans in Lagos all of those years ago. Though that incident had long since been considered water under the bridge, Okoye couldn’t help but think it would be brought up again. Everything that poor woman had ever done in her life would be publicized, judged, and thrown back at her – and the entire royal family’s – face. But these worries were for a day in which half of the world’s population had not been brought back to life.</p><p>Now, however, days later and having had time to dwell on all that has happened, Okoye is full of worry. The others were as well; though respectfully and carefully, the subject of T’Challa’s newly found soulmate was inevitably brought up. He rebuked their concerns with well-practiced diplomacy, reminding them all that the young woman in question had just lost a beloved partner and that their bond is very new. So, the subject was dropped.</p><p>But right here, after all but Okoye and her King have left, the warrior feels it’s her duty to speak her worries to him.</p><p>“We have time as well. The information has not been leaked.” The Wakandans present as the King consoled his soulmate were either warriors or politicians; the first ones know better than to gossip about matters above them and the others are aware that all information has its time. Both, as well, are loyal to Wakanda and T’Challa. It affords the King time to ponder on what to be done.</p><p>T'Challa doesn’t answer, and instead continues to watch the city lights under the night sky. Okoye sighs, her concern taking another route at the frown on his face.</p><p>“How is she?”</p><p>He takes a deep breath before answering.</p><p>“She’s…as well as could be hoped. I will be joining her for dinner soon.”</p><p>“Oh, where will you go?”</p><p>“Right here, for now.” He rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then. “Don’t worry, my friend, Wakanda’s best interests are always my own.” And with those as his final words on the subject, the King departs.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>...I guess I'm doing this. Please, always let me know what you think, even if it's a correction or criticism (maybe especially then). It was people telling me that they thought this was an interesting premise that got me excited about writing more.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Uncharacteristically, T’Challa fidgets with the cuffs of his dress shirt as he waits in front of Wanda’s door. It’s nothing more than a subtle pulling of the cloth, his fingers needing something to keep them busy. He shifts his weight from foot to foot once, twice, and is relieved when she answers the door quickly.</p><p>“Good evening.” He greets.</p><p>She gives him a smile that, for all that it is no more than a pull on the corners of her lips, still carries enough genuine feeling to put him at ease. She’s wearing a light, dark blue dress. Simple, but well suited to her, with its low – though still demure – neckline showing an expanse of smooth skin that T’Challa makes a point of not glancing at.</p><p>“Hi. Good evening.” Wanda responds, then stands still, looking at him. Her brow furrows and that’s when T’Challa realizes she’s as lost as he is. Offering her his arm, which she takes gratefully, he steers her towards his personal rooms.</p><p>Days before, when he had asked her where she would like to go, a couple of hours after allowing her words to leave his mouth, her response had cut him like a vibranium blade. Uncertainty clouded her features, pain tightened her lips and she said,</p><p>“There’s no place left for me.”</p><p>While the private apartment he arranged for Wanda is in the Palace and not considerably far from where he spends most of his free time, T’Challa figured it was a sign of respect to put some physical distance between them. He knows what she has lost and understands first hand that one doesn’t need a mark to be able to love another with their whole soul.</p><p>It's also only the third day since when they bonded. Though, in actual time, it’s been over five years since he heard her say his words. Even now, he’s unsure why he chose not to speak to her then, to let her know that the Goddesses had blessed them both. At the time, it didn’t feel like a blessing. Tension tightened her features even as she thanked him, eyes glistening with emotion. He had watched her console and flutter worriedly around her love, the one whose life was directly on the line, mere moments before.</p><p>If it was meant to be, he pondered, he would prefer victory to be the mark of their union. What a naïve thought from one who should have known better. Winning never comes without a price, and the one she paid was higher than most. Her love won’t come back to her in a cloud of dust reformed.</p><p>They arrive at his door after a couple of minutes of somewhat uncomfortable silence. The table was set before-hand, the meal still fresh, kept simple by what he knows of her, a girl born to a country at war and raised between conflict. He wouldn’t invade her privacy by researching her past now, but he had, before. The accords named after her home country had demanded it, and T’Challa’s memory has never failed him.</p><p>“Did you make this yourself?” She smiles, an attempt at levity, as she eyes the dishes covering the table and settles on the chair gracefully.</p><p>He gives her an embarrassed smile.</p><p>“I can’t cook.” He revels, grateful for the lightened atmosphere. “And the Palace’s chef, Zori, would be very cross with me if I attempted to poison you with my cooking so soon after we met.”</p><p>Pleasure floods him as she reacts with the first full, teeth-showing smile he has seen from her, and he can’t help but match the expression. He tried to give her time and space to heal, keeping his presence at a minimum while making sure he was available if she needed him. But a couple of days later and with no attempt to contact him from her, he caved and called her, inquiring if she wanted to have dinner. With her yes, he made sure to converse with the chef and prepare a meal that showed effort but wouldn’t overwhelm her with new flavors. Something to ease this awkward phase of not knowing how to behave around the person that carries a piece of your soul.</p><p>“Something smells very nice.” Her voice is warm, weighted by a subtle accent. Its tone is feminine and pleasant.</p><p>“We have two options of main course and dessert.” He offers, gesturing to the covered dishes.</p><p>“Oh, sounds good. What should I try first?” She raises an eyebrow, allowing playfulness to color her tone.</p><p>T’Challa, caught by surprise, takes a moment to think about it. The options are a typical Wakandan dish, something likely to be easily palatable to foreign taste buds, but still invariably local, a way to share his home with Wanda. For the second option, Zori suggested something from Sokovia, a dish that Wanda is likely to know and which the chef seemed inordinately excited to have a reason to cook. In the end, he opts for familiarity. His wish is for her to feel welcome, seen, at ease. So, he gestures to the silvery cloche to his left.</p><p>The soft smile that graces her lips freezes in place when she uncovers the dish. T’Challa can smell it from here, a mouth-watering scent of well-cooked chicken and foreign spices. He isn’t sure what he expected her reaction to be, but it’s not this one. Wanda puts the cloche aside and stares at the food, her face crumbling from the lightness it carried into an emptiness that must be covering something.</p><p>“If you don’t like it, we can try the other one.” He says, worried. “Zori has retired for the night, but we can also take a chance with my cooking.” T’Challa continues, an attempt to bring her out of whatever this is.</p><p>Wanda glances at him, and though her answering smile is clearly only for his benefit, she makes an effort to explain.</p><p>“This-it brings up memories.” She takes in a shuddering breath, and T’Challa’s stomach squirms with unease at the way her shoulders drop and her eyes glisten. “It’s Paprikash. My mother used to make it whenever we had enough money for chicken, when I was small.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He says, chastened.</p><p>“It’s okay. It’s a lovely dish, not easy to cook right, either. Thank you.” Her voice is earnest, though pain clouds her features. “Vi-Vision tried to cook it for me once.” She adds, her tone so low he almost misses it.</p><p>T’Challa freezes for a moment, unsure how to react. Her hand rests over the table, and so he raises his to cover it. Her fingers are cold, so he intertwines them with his own.</p><p>“How did it turn out?” T’Challa asks. The lesson he learned with his father’s death was that the best way to honor those gone and to keep them alive is to not shy away from their names. Memories shared are never forgotten.</p><p>T’Challa is rewarded when a startled laugh is pulled from Wanda by his words.</p><p>“Horribly. He didn’t, couldn’t, eat. But he tried, he had all of these ingredients on the counter, but he missed the ones that make true Paprikash.” Her lower lip trembles. “I never had the time to teach him how to do it right.”</p><p>T’Challa rubs her knuckles with his thumb.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” He says, voice low and grave.</p><p>“No, I’m sorry.” Wanda looks at him, ashamed. “I’m sorry, you went through all this trouble for me and I-I just can’t keep it together.” She closes her eyes tightly. Translucent tears make a path down her face as they escape.</p><p>He rises from the table, making his way around it in order to pull Wanda into his arms just as the last of her barriers crack under the pressure. She holds on to him with a fierceness that takes him aback for a moment, face hiding against his chest and fingers squeezing his shirt with a tight grip. T’Challa isn’t sure how it happens, but they suddenly are sitting on his luckily soft, carpeted floor, his arms full with a crying soulmate. It keenly reminds him of their last, and first, real encounter.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry.” She stammers between sobs.</p><p>“It’s okay. Wanda, it’s okay.” He tells her, and it is. He’s just relieved he can be here for her.</p><p>She pulls him closer and he struggles for a moment to allow the stiffness to melt from his limbs. It’s undeniable that there’s something strong that connects them, from the first moment he heard her voice, he could recognize it. But they are still strangers and he would be loath to make her feel uncomfortable in any way. Wanda, however, doesn’t seem to share his concern.</p><p>Tentatively, he relaxes into the embrace and allows a hand to burrow in her soft hair, holding the back of her head in that same way his mother used to when he would cry in her skirts as a child. A touch he hopes is half as comforting to her as it was to him then. She quivers against him, still somewhat trying to keep the full force of her grief at bay. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and cradles her on his lap.</p><p>The worry stewing in his brain doesn’t stop him from noticing things he would rather not to at the moment. The scent of her might be the best thing he has ever felt, sweet and flowery, but with an edge that makes it unique. It’s so delectable that he has to fight the impulse to bury his nose in her hair to breathe more of it in. Wanda’s weight is reassuring and right, the kind of intimate feeling he should only have after knowing someone his whole life. Though, perhaps, he has. Wakanda has its own mythos about soulmarks, and T’Challa made a point to study it and all the versions from elsewhere as soon as he was allowed to. Many believe that, in some kind of way, soulmates are always with each other.</p><p>He also knows, right at that moment with Wanda wrapped around him as if the mere thought of letting go causes her agony, that Okoye’s words from earlier couldn’t be more off the mark. Shame makes him bury the thought as soon as it manifests, but he knows that, whatever Wanda may want T’Challa to be for her, it will be platonic only if she chooses it so.</p><p>She cries for long moments, incapable of holding back the flood of emotion even as she trembles with the effort to do so. When she pulls back to look up at him, calmer, though still vulnerable and so impossibly sad, his mind goes blank and all that matters is that he does whatever he must to console her. His hands rise to frame her face, carefully, and his thumb wipes a new tear when it falls. She’s a classic tragedy, sharp cheekbones on a face still soft with youth, elegant lines that do nothing but take his breath away with their pain.</p><p>He shouldn’t and, were the moment not a charged emotional rollercoaster, he wouldn’t. But she meets him halfway, whatever unseen force that moves him taking control of her as well. The press of her lips is sweet because of the rush it starts in him and bitter for the saltiness from her tears. He can feel new ones falling against his face even as she presses closer, lips parting against his. Despite their position and his undeniable, glaring attraction to her, it’s not a sensual moment in the least. It’s comfort and pain and a soul desperately seeking to push the loneliness back.</p><p>It ends in a second. Wanda pulls back. Eyes wide, she scrambles away from him, putting distance between them. T’Challa sits on the ground, feeling lightheaded and directionless, like gravity itself was just pulled away and he’s now floundering in a weightless world. Wanda looks at him, pale, mouth half-open in shock, before she ungainly stands up and flees out of his apartment with a promptness that startles him.</p><p>When she’s gone, T’Challa falls back on the floor, hands rising to cover his face. He’s ashamed, worried and overwhelmed. He doesn’t know how to help Wanda and just discovered that her being his soulmate might make it all more complicated than if he were just a friend offering comfort. Now that he has unveiled the thread that pulls them closer, it feels impossible to ignore. When his thoughts suddenly turn to the meeting this afternoon and all the concerns aside from their private relationship, he feels even more lost.</p><p>With a heavy sigh, he calls the one person he can trust above all others, someone who knows him better than he knows himself. Shuri answers with a complaint that her lab is a mess and she’s busy fixing it, but at his tone, she stops and listens. He has a mess of his own that he can’t afford to ruin further; a soulmate who shatters his well-cultivated composure as if it were never there, and who may need more help than he can give.</p><p>Luckily, his little sister never disappoints.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm very excited by this story now, and a big part of it is the nice response it has gotten despite being such a rare pairing and only a half-formed concept. Hopefully, you will all continue to like it ;D</p><p>Also, I feel like T'Challa is a smart man who would quickly realize that Wanda's trauma won't be solved by a suddenly-appearing soulmate and some earnest loving. I also feel like it really wouldn't, since it's not just love that she needs, she must also go back and revisit all her previous losses in order to heal, kinda like what happened on the show with Agatha, but hopefully in a more healthy way. I would love it if you guys could tell me your opinions on that.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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